S.O.S.

Planeta Tierra, Sudamérica, Argentina, Tucumán... Si algún compatriota de mi planeta me escucha, por favor envíenme la nave salvadora... O bien, alguna pastilla que me intoxique como lo buscan los humanos con los que convivo y así no vea lo que para todo el mundo está perfectamente bien.

Mis alumnos parten esta tarde a Bariloche, justo en las estrechas dos semanas más ocupadas para completar las mini-monografías para el Bachillerato Internacional. El motivo de que hayan decidido irse en una época tan inconveniente desde el punto de vista académico es que conseguían mejores precios a los de julio, que es cuando tienen sus vacaciones de invierno. Aún cuando se les pondrá falta injustificada, ellos igualmente "presupuestaron" sus ausencias para llegar a este punto, de manera que después del viaje les tocará la re-incorporación que les otorga un número extra de posibles faltas hasta fin de año. Ahora bien, el colegio les quitó el apoyo logístico. La institución ya no es cómplice del supuesto "viaje de estudio". Por lo tanto, el grupo va con padres -no sé bien si uno, dos, tres, cuatro, o más. Así, la tradición Bariloche se mantiene intacta.

Para los chicos este viaje es el centro de su experiencia y de su existencia en el último año de secundaria. Es la ocasión para distenderse, relajarse, divertirse juntos antes de emprender el largo camino del "mundo real" que supuestamente comenzará cuando vayan a la universidad. El síndrome de la separación, de la terminación de una etapa de la vida desaparece en esta cultura a través de una experiencia que los une más. Los chicos y chicas pasan momentos inolvidables y construyen juntos memorias que atesorarán por el resto de sus vidas. Bariló marca así un rito de pasaje, de culminación y de iniciación.

Durante las noches de boliche -y, quién sabe, durante otros momentos del día- el consumo de alcohol es admisible ya que no hay padre que ignore que es una de las causas más atractivas de esta experiencia. Los chicos beben, así se divierten. Prima el desenfreno. Se legaliza otro rito de iniciación a través de la intoxicación, festejada por los amigos, ignorada por los adultos "en tanto y en cuanto no cometan algún desbarajuste que amenace la integridad física propia o la de otros." Son varios días así - de ahí su carácter de inolvidable. En EEUU, este desenfreno se da en las "graduation parties" o fiestas de graduación que se llevan a cabo generalmente en el domicilio particular de los estudiantes, y por supuesto no es una sola sino que varios chicos del mismo grupo celebran la propia, por lo cual suele darse una especie de cadena de festejos. En estas fiestas corre el alcohol sin límite. Por este motivo, la costumbre es que o bien sean llevados y traidos por sus progenitores u otros adultos designados, o que lleguen en su auto y entreguen las llaves al dueño de casa, dispuestos a quedarse hasta el otro día para evitar posibles accidentes en las calles o rutas. Aparentemente es muy necesario este rito, así como lo ha sido el carnaval desde tiempos inmemoriales. Los adultos observan esta necesidad de los aún adolescentes menores de edad que viven así un supuesto ingreso al status de adulto.

Obviamente cuando pienso en estos ritos bárbaros, me pregunto de qué planeta soy. Y es entonces cuando me siento inmensamente más viejo de lo que ya estoy. Será porque en mi propia experiencia, obviamente otra generación, otra comunidad, otras vivencias, otra época, no necesitamos emborracharnos para sentirnos adultos, y no había ninguna mística Bariló aún. Hoy hace falta y los adultos la aceptan. Y los esfuerzos de los más grandes se canalizan en tratar de crear redes de contención para que los más chicos cometan sus excesos sin dañarse ni dañar a otros. Trato enormemente de comprender esta necesidad de desenfreno, a pesar de que sigo también convencido de que esta tradición es muy bien mantenida por quienes ganan mucho dinero a través de ella, léase agencias de viaje, compañías de cerveza, etc. No deja de sorprenderme la profesionalidad de los entrenados coordinadores de las agencias, los chicos cool que celebran el culto al alcohol detrás de la inolvidable sensación de estar todos abrazados esbozando una lágrima compartida por el tiempo que estuvieron juntos y que no se repetirá.

Me pregunto si esta experiencia ya culturalmente aceptada es apropiada. Este punto de aceptación de la sociedad de estos rituales es común entre individuos de toda clase social, ideología política, o religión profesada. Por lo menos, en el caso del colegio, la institución no se hace cómplice dándole el nombre y plasmando la mentira del viaje de estudio. Aún así, es tan fuerte la costumbre que las agencias de viaje con la complicidad de los padres decidieron que yo haya pasado dos días seguidos con migraña por estar tres horas primero y dos más tarde en un mismo día, ininterrumpidamente corrigiendo trabajos escritos para que los chicos puedan irse algo más tranquilos a emborracharse en paz en Bariló.

No puedo evitar sentir que estamos todos locos. Donde está mi nave para que me lleve a casa? Estos seres de aquí me hacen sentir la diferencia a pesar de que en apariencia me veo un poco como ellos. Pero cuando observo lo que ocurre en determinadas situaciones, el extraterrestre en mí queda azorado con humanos ojos tan abiertos de asombro y espanto que sólo mi esfuerzo por comprender me lleva a bajar la cabeza y esconder mi confusión. Quizás alguien, por favor, pueda explicarme mejor qué está ocurriendo... Bienvengo comentarios que me ayuden a ver más claramente...

These days...

Trying to get adjusted... to overcome the re-entry numbing pang... hoping for a quick return to finding purpose and some sense...
I need a vacation so bad!

Sleepless Restless Nite

Sleepless, I find little to do after reading my two fav papers, check my mail, play a lousy round of scrabble. I had a midnight dinner, back from a late night exam. Last night, Roxana shared her "micro-relatos" and I thought if maybe I should try my hand at writing some too. But I figured at some point or another they will come out... unexpectedly, unwillingly, and other uns too. Don't know about the quality, but they'll eventually find their way into my blog.

I still feel a bit lost without my luggage!! I still feel the shock of coming back after only a month that was much longer than that in intensity. I got yet another nice pic of our nite at Floyd's... from Liz this time. I still have to work on the grades and the forms for the LII courses... But I shouldn't give in and think too much of my to-do list... Boring and overwhelming.

I want my luggage back! So that I can finally feel that I've arrived here. I went to CSP this afternoon and had a good time chatting with students and colleagues. It was nice to see them all again. Nice feeling... Tomorrow I'll go to Choreography Nite - my first ever! I'm never around for School Week...

I'll only feel settled when I get my luggage, glorious baggage. I need to get a haircut too and hit the courts with my brand new Babolat...

Thought maybe I should have some Johnny Walker and hit the sack, Joe... hee...

July in NY

I haven't been here for about two weeks. It's just that I've been all too absorbed by family, friends and, more so, unfortunately, work. However, all in all, it's been one hell of a summer in NY, especially on the weekends that I spent with my three sisters and the last one with Imani and my friends in NYC. It's so invigorating. I feel full of warmth and love. I wish I could feel this way more often back home. Is it maybe that I work much too much there? I don't know... or maybe I do... or can figure it out.
.

A simple explanation is that weekends here have been just extraordinary. The reasons:

a) It´s my sisters' -Dudy's and Lola's- first visit to the US, so I was a blessed witness of their excitement at their constant discovery in our outings. I'm sure I've shared moments with them and Lilia that I'll remember for the rest of my life.

b) I only see NYC/Packer friends once a year, which makes the event so special. I think that if I saw my people from Tucumán one weekend a year only, it would also become a monumental event. Besides, I feel listened to, supported and comforted by my close and now also long-time friends here. Apart from the solace I find in talking with Imani, there have been other special moments, like my intense conversation with Noah and Rachel, my get-together after soooo long with Jan Schmidt - we had quite a bit of catching up to do. And of course also in the category of close friends is Lilia. Related to her, my communication with Nick, Anibal and Liann has been so smooth and easy. They've made me feel so comfortable in my skin! I felt they were more open to me as well... (sigh) You don't always have the luxury of finding so many pairs of ears eager to listen to you.

c) The experience I have with my students here is really intense - I see them everyday for two weeks for five hours each day, the progress they make is amazing, they are incrediby motivated, and a nice part of American culture is that they express their appreciation when they are pleased with your work. This part I guess I don't always get at home unfortunately... Don't know - it may be a cultural thing...

These three factors make my stay here really special. Now it seems that all the fun is over. For the next eight days I'll be in a marathon of work: teaching the ESL weekend, the last week of the Spanish program, and that last Friday with the workshop for ESL teachers. To say I'll be tired when I get back home is an understatement. However, the way this summer's been so far... I'll have my heart filled with good vibes and positive energy...

I thank you, God, for the days you've blessed me with this Northern summer...

.

Pic 1 with Adnan photoshopped in it by Imani - we missed you Adnan!!!

Pic 2 Joanie, Noah, Rachel, Imani

Pic 3 On Guzzi with Alyssa - ain't them both cool?

Pic 4 With Dudy in Grand Central Station

Pic 5 Up: Sam, Sharon, el burro al medio, Laura. Sitting: Lea, Evelyn, Lola, Lili, & Dudy. Taken by Art(uro)

Pic 6 Dudy and Lilia under instead of in the poncho on the double decker bus touring NYC


Pic 7 Lola & Lili

Pic 8 The siblings in the limo on their way to 'da pa:ty'
Pic 9 Lola & Dudy in Rockefeller Center garden.

My Shrink Says ... Blog!

Why do people write confessional blogs? It's a creative outlet. It's a forum to vent. It's an exercise in exhibitionism. To mental-health experts, though, it's more than that: a blog is medicine. Psychiatrists are starting to tout the therapeutic power of blogging, and many have begun incorporating it into patient treatment. A forthcoming study in the journal CyberPsychology & Behavior even suggests that bloggers might be happier than nonbloggers.

Mental-health experts say blogs are a step up from plain old diaries, chiefly because of the built-in audience. As kids, we learn that if we air our problems, we get help. We associate communication with consolation, particularly when the going gets tough. Blogging fulfills that primal need for sympathy. "Writing is an effort of the brain to communicate for comfort," says Harvard neurologist Alice Flaherty. "Diaries are a form of that communication, but removed. Blogging gets you closer to that sympathetic audience, and that's what makes it therapeutic." According to psychologist John Suler, the anonymity of blogging provides another therapeutic boost: it's high intimacy with low vulnerability. But blogger beware. "Revealing too much," says Suler, "can cause shame or guilt." So blog to your heart's content, but leave some things to the imagination.
Written by Jessica Bennett NEWSWEEK
Jun 30, 2008 Issue

This brief commentary appeared in Newsweek and I was happy to see that my hunch was right. It is therapeutic after all. There is something comforting about the possible audience. One writes for oneself but is aware that anyone may read this any time. This has that liberating feeling, like being comforted, understood, and above all one gets the soothing feeling of communicating with others, even if we have the faintest idea of who that might be.

It is really YOU, yes, you who are reading these lines at this moment. Most times I avoid addressing you, and it really feels strange to overtly establish a dialogue with you. You are usually the anonymous witness of my life, you become an intimate yet unknown observer of my thoughts and feelings. Suddenly, within the last week or so, I got a message or comment of a student of mine from LM. She came across my blog and left a couple of nice lines about discovering a different person from her formal language teacher. It is true that I don't think of that when I write, but the fact that people that know me have had access to my reflections and crazy virtual doodling without me even knowing their name is an extraordinary event. It's the virtual alter ego, or the virtual sibling, or whatever one may wish to call the reader of one's blog - who are sometimes accidental or occasional visitors and other times frequent sharers of my life. I guess, the phenomenon does give me a sense of liberation, of open self-disclosure, and of comfort. We do not always have a chance to reach out to many people we see all the time, and maybe wish we shared more with. This is a way of becoming more transparent, even when I may be totally unaware of who some of them are, or as in the case of my student, I know there is one of them in a group of about forty or fifty people. And there may be some others whom I'll never know ever passed by here.

You see, I'm no longer addressing you, even if for this once I AM doing so. It's just that I keep digressing more within the labrynth of my mind and easily forget you're there. And that's ok - that's what this is all about. Without knowing it, you see, you are also part of my therapy.

I do my best to avoid revealing too much, like the article says, that may give me shame or guilt later on. However, to the careful observer, these lines here show much of my heart and soul, and definitely shed a light on the rest that remains unsaid. There, again, lies the beauty of this habit of blogging, at least for me. I display in detail the tip of the iceberg, but the seven eighths that go unseen are thus under pristine clear water. And if I ever go beyond the sensible point, I hope you'll be sympathetic, understanding, and forgiving, as you would with a friend, right?

Independence

Fourth of July in the US - excellent holiday, just in time for a homecoming feeling. My sister is home with the traditional barbecue that cannot be more special today. She's making it for her two sisters and me. It's weird to be back on Pocatello Rd just like every month of July for the last several years but so special with the company of Dudy and Lolita. The four siblings together in a distant land, with occasional fireworks interrupting the quiet suburban landscape of strong green hills. Pop Latino music in the background, weird, so weird. Their visit in the US, a dream come true for one, the investment of a lifetime for the other, and for me so much family warmth. The spacious yard, the old barn by the pond across the road, the hills in the background, and now the neighbors' fireworks. All Americans seem to celebrate the get-together of the Lizarragas. We have a lot to share, the bliss of shared laughter, the memory of childhood anecdotes, old trials and tribulations, and the loss of mom and dad, each gone with a twenty-six-year hiatus in between. Tomorrow we'll be walking along NYC streets and I'll see the city through their eyes. It'll sure look different, special... Maybe we'll reach our own independence of our intimate grief and will bring the memory of our parents to a place of celebration...

IMing

'Qtal' dice la pantallita y una puerta se abre nuevamente, un intento de encontrar una cálida habitación del otro lado, con grandes ventanales a un paisaje verde cambiante enmarcado en cortinas que en juego con el espumoso acolchado en ocres y pasteles invitan a soñar un despertar suave y relajado. Una lámpara en luz blanco amarillenta baña las paredes y el óleo de las pinturas.

Es un soplo de imaginación y dura menos de un segundo, pero se repite cada vez que entra o sale esa expresión abreviada, que encapsula en cuatro letras un sinfin de ansiedades y esperanzas y voluntades.

Más vale no ocuparse de la respuesta, no sea que se pierda la magia, el misterio, y el ensueño.

Loss

After great pain a formal feeling comes--

The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;

The stiff Heart questions-- was it He that bore?

And yesterday--or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round

A wooden way

Of ground, or air, or ought,

Regardless grown,

A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead

Remembered if outlived,

As freezing persons recollect the snow--

First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

.

.

Emily Dickinson masterfully describes the stages of pain after some excrutiating experience. Immediately after the loss, the numbness allows us to get over a torn heart, moments of grief that are just too much to carry. Chill, stupor and finally the letting go, only after some time that can only be defined by each individual. I'm thinking of you, Imani. And I also remember you, mom and dad.

Corrientes subterráneas

El domingo llegué a casa de Marta, saludé a toda la familia. Comenzamos una animada charla de fútbol con don Luis, su hermano, Daniel, y después Santiago y Sebastián. Y no fue sino hasta que vi la tarjeta que le dieron sus mellizas a Seba que recordé que era su día y empecé a felicitar a los padres presentes una hora y media después de haber llegado. Tuve un día de pesadumbre, de achatamiento, a pesar de no haber estado solo en ningún momento.

Hoy después de cantar 'Yesterday' a toda voz cuando volví de mi clase de la facultad, y casi de la nada empecé a repetirle a Bulky las frases que papá solía decirme en la lengua que él inventó para mí cuando era niño y que traducidas al español común significaban "si es mi hijo, es muy mío; si es muy mío, debe ser mi hijo". Las repetía tantas veces que yo ya no sabía qué hacer, en parte contento por la atención que me daba, en parte bufando por lo cargoso. No me animaba a saltarle encima y abrazarlo. Cuando fui adulto, sí lo abracé todo lo que pude. Por suerte.

Y comprendí las increíbles jugarretas de la mente. No até cabos sino hasta hace unos minutos... Uno reacciona de una y otra forma y cree entenderse. Pero sólo después de dos días puedo ver claramente por qué escribí ayer esa narrativa en la que desaparezco... Estaba de duelo otra vez. Por vos, viejo. Estés donde estés. Te quiero y extraño...

Apagón y después

De repente saltaron los fusibles y el restó se quedó en penumbras, las conversaciones se quebraron, todos miraron alrededor buscando comprender. Las luces del hall de entrada del hotel al lado se colaron sobre sus papeles a través del gran vidrio y las luces de la calle marcaron las siluetas de las mesas, sillas y clientes dispersos en el bar. Al parar el ruido de la cafetera, la tranquilidad repentina asentó su presencia singular. La extensión de ese par de segundos fue infinita y la visión del lugar desde su mesa fue tan diferente que se le grabó en la mente y la retina, en lugar de sus apuntes, libro, carpeta y lapiceras en los que tanto se había concentrado.

De pronto, la lapicera rodó hasta el capuchón y vio que sus manos no estaban. Miró sus piernas y tampoco las encontró. Lo miró al mozo desesperado buscando una respuesta pero el hombre siguió su conversación con el mesero detrás del mostrador mientras procedió a limpiar su mesa. En la misma, ya no estaban sus cosas. Era obvio que no estaba, se había ido, esfumado en la penumbra sin que nadie lo notara. Quedó desde entonces sumido en esa quietud íntima y reconfortante.

La interferencia del plasma que prendían nuevamente lo sacó de sus ruminaciones. Y se encontró con el entorno acostumbrado: la pareja en la mesa de al lado charlando a media voz, los dos hombres mayores de espaldas a la calle y de cara al plasma, la otra pareja encapsulada en la pantalla de su laptop, el relato de la periodista de TN. Y el mozo se acercó a dejarle el ticket entre el servilletero y el estuche de sus anteojos de lectura. Observó a su alrededor y el tipo sentado con dos cuarentonas lo miró desconcertado. Sorprendido, bajó la mirada y la incrustó sobre su hoja de apuntes. Tomó la lapicera y fijó la vista en la hoja en blanco mientras el sonido de la cafetera por fin cesó.

Fin de semana de locos

Los ruidos, la gente nerviosa, tensión circundante, conflicto social y desahogo en el fútbol. Los bocinazos por festejos futboleros sólo dejan lugar a los cacerolazos por el conflicto campo-gobierno. Los cánticos con oprobios gratuitos entre 'putos' y 'sucios' se suceden y en la plaza Independencia el himno se escucha detrás de los cacerolazos. Los que cortan las rutas sostienen banderas y con aplausos buscan la aprobación de los que pasan después de varias horas de atasco. Quién se considera más argentino con su reclamo? Lo somos todos, definidos en el no escuchar al otro. Es surrealista salir al balcón. La bomba de estruendo será de algún festejo decano o ciruja o de los manifestantes de la plaza contra el gobierno? Mi perro quedó ronco de tanto ladrar la interminable disfonía de ruidos. No nos va pensar en el descanso en un fin de semana largo. Estamos todos de penitencia en casa porque no hay micros de larga distancia y sólo se consigue cargar 15 litros de nafta después de una fila de varios minutos. Por lo menos, los fanas del fútbol estarán más aliviados después de sacarse frustraciones con pitos, gritos y conjuros. Cómo hacer para abstraerse de tanta locura?

Cool sunny morning

It's been a while since I last posted anything here. It's just that I'd like June to be over soon. I keep thinking of going to the US, not for the sake of travelling only, but for the change of pace, a brief escape from the pressure of class preparation and grading. And I'm all expectation, wanting to see my sister, niece and nephews, my other sisters there too! A time to be with Imani, whose struggle is at a painful high at the moment with Judi in hospital, and Marc and Pam, who have fortunately overcome theirs.

If life is but a whiff, then each moment I can share a smile with people around me becomes a blessing, a celebration of being fine and alive and energetic. In no time the world can be turned upside down, and then one wonders why the good times seemed so elusive and ephemeral. They don't have to be, if we can seize them one by one, little by little - the simple awareness of being surrounded by people we love. This late fall morning has cast a certain spell... cool and sunny - just perfect. I thank you, God.

gracias (febrero del '93)

habrá talvez quien me escuche
pero no tendré quienes demanden mis oídos

habrá quien me dé conversación de alto nivel
y también trivial, y muchos
que sólo ofrecerán tokens de atención
mas no vida contada en frases
entrecortadas dulcemente ansiosas

habrá el tiempo de poder relajarme
y quien me dedique un domingo de tenis fulltime
pero no quien cada semana me ofrezca un saludo
en tarjeta dibujada, ni quien amase obras maestras
originales para la audiencia esperada de mi sola persona

habrá la ocasión del buen libro
el trago en las rocas y la compañía part-time
mas no una agenda con cumples que organizar, partidos
que atender, lágrimas que calmar,
sonrisas similares que contestar,
ni hiperacción
en audaz desafío a mi paciencia

habrá quizás quien escuche mi desventuras
pero habrán de oir en ellas una canción?

(A Aníbal Jr, Liann, Nicolás y Lilia - Escrito en Middletown pronto a partir de regreso a Argentina después de 6 años)

Ritual de orden

No lo había planeado pero decidió limpiar su estudio. El escritorio estaba abarrotado de papeles, libros, polvo, algunos pelos de la gata, en marcado contraste al resto del lugar siempre impecable por la visita de Cecilia, la señora que le organizaba la vida tres veces a la semana y le dejaba el departamento pristino y fresco. La señora sabía que podía ordenar y reorganizar cualquier parte de la casa, ropa, objetos de la cocina, pero nada concerniente a papeles o libros de su estudio. Poner en orden el escritorio y el bargueño implicaba un gran caos inicial cual explosión que se extendía alrededor del pequeño ambiente. Pero al finalizar y haber limpiado el vidrio que cubre el escritorio sintió la frescura del orden, la calma que emerge de lo que está en su lugar. Mentalmente sintió un íntimo alivio. Se sirvió un café en su taza de Barnes & Nobles y se sentó frente a su laptop en la impecable superficie que aún olía al limón químico del limpiador. Miró la pila de libros correspondiente a su cátedra de la universidad, escogió el libro que iniciaría su próxima lección y se acomodó con su lápiz mina, su lapicera favorita y el Word abierto en la pantalla de su Dell. A los pocos instantes su carlino encontró su mejor posición entre las patas de la silla giratoria y la siamesa se apostó sigilosamente al lado de la impresora. Así comenzó su preparación para la maratón de trabajo de la próxima semana.

Mañana de sábado

Autista se sintió en su propia burbuja, incapaz de conectarse, de conceder, de abrirse y ser vulnerable ante los ojos de otro. Tomó el último sorbo del cortado y miró el fondo de la taza esperando encontrar algún trazo o alguna señal. Dobló el diario del bar y lo colgó del respaldo de la silla para que otro lo viera disponible. Algún otro autista quizás. Había cierto bullicio en el bar. En el plasma de 42' el tiempo pareció regresar en la guitarra de Santana y la percusión de su banda que sólo llegaban si uno les prestaba atención. En las otras tv, silenciosas, Monastieri buscaba repetir el título de Portschach frente a Ivadesko. Casi todas las mesas estaban ocupadas a esa hora en múltiples conversaciones que se mezclaban con los acordes latinos tan coloridos como poncho guatemalteco o las nuevísimas acuarelas virtuales.
Miró alrededor y pensó que el diario no ofrecía mucho por qué preocuparse ese día. Los crímenes de siempre, la retórica de los políticos, la rectitud del editorial, las cartas moralistas. Sabía que no necesitaría recordar mucho de su lectura del desayuno. Pensó que estando ahora bien despierto y sin tener que apurarse como durante el resto de la semana, podría volver a su lugar y enfrascarse en la preparación de alguno de los proyectos que tenía en mente.
Pagó al mozo su café con leche light, dejando como siempre una generosa propina y salió del bar al concierto discorde del tráfico. Sintió la brisa otoñal de mayo - fresca por primera vez en varios días de humedad y seudo verano. Cuando cruzó San Juan, miró la gente esperando el colectivo, los rostros inexpresivos, lejanos. Pasó la obra en construcción que obstruía la vereda como siempre, y siguió sus pasos hasta dejarse absorber por la entrada a su edificio. Las paredes de mármol carmesí frías, los pisos impolutos de baldosas lacadas, la puerta de entrada con los bronces relucientes y la luz del hall pálida a los ojos acostumbrados al día. Cerró la puerta del ascensor, dio media vuelta y quedó absorto en la imagen del espejo. Era él, sólo que tan arrugado y con unos pocos pelos blanco-amarillentos que parecía una caricatura venida a menos del rostro juvenilejo de una época que le quedó tan pero tan atrás...

Luna llena

Hoy me rindo a la melodía de la luna llena. La noche clara como el día se atenúa entre alguna luz de neón y las lámparas halógenas de Laprida. Sin embargo, su brillo plateado se refleja en el piso de cerámica del balcón y baña la entrada de los pisos de madera. Me dejo llevar por la inercia de esta época agitada, pero en el medio está este encuentro con la reina silenciosa. Estoy por salir a ver un musical de Cibrián pero antes me detengo ante la tranquilidad y la paz que emana la guía del paso del tiempo, la que me recuerda que la vida transcurre y no para, la que me dice que debo seguir escribiendo porque de otra manera se haría muy intolerable la rutina y al cabo del tiempo me sorprendería sólo habiendo pasado los días. Con la contemplación de una luna llena que ilumina la ciudad por encima del desconcierto del tráfico y la ansiosa calma de domingo a la noche, siento que estoy viviendo, tomo distancia para ver que estos cinco minutos no han transcurrido inadvertidos, que vivo y que absorbo el espacio y el aire inusualmente cálido de este mayo desconcertante. Mañana seguirá la carrera, más temprano mi atención entera estaba en la carretera, de regreso de Simoca - siempre mirando adelante, al espacio vacío que habría de llenar con mi horma. Pero ahora, la luna me cobija, me recuerda que esta bocanada que me regalo esta noche me ha permitido unos segundos plenos... Entre los ronrones de los pocos motores tranquilos de esta noche, puedo oír los tuquitos y cigarras, y el chirpeo apurado de algún murciélago confundido con la claridad de plata, de calma, de vida.

around and around

around and around
no merry ride found
pecking away at the keyboard
muffled engines outside
tires driven home
a tv soccer game nextdoor
the void filled with sounds
sustained in quiet
endless
desperation

Snapshot

His chin on my right sneaker
dozing off relaxed
while I type
away the night
He couldn't ask for more

En Busca del Tiempo Perdido

"Te internas en el recuerdo para descubrir qué es real y qué no lo es. Crees que un momento, en un instante, se esconde el misterio del universo" --- la idea de En Busca del Tiempo Perdido de Marcel Proust. Parece que tendré que leer ese libro. Salió como el clásico que soy, basado en un cuestionario barato de Facebook. Sin embargo, las dos ideas en la descripción me llegan. Creo que como buen latinomericano post realismo mágico, no puedo evitar mezclar realidad y ficción en mis recuerdos del pasado. Sí creo, como proponía Borges, que los eventos vividos proyectan una larga sombra sobre el resto de nuestra vida y nos marcan invariablemente. En nuestra ansiedad y desencanto, nos desesperamos por seleccionar qué recordar del pasado. Es mejor así, nos ayuda a soportar nuestra levedad.

Y tanto como quizás podamos encontrar nuestro aleph en un instante, de igual forma se nos esfuma la existencia - la efímera búsqueda de significado que nos entretiene para encontrar respiro en la bruma diaria, para sentir que vale la pena... "No trates de entender el mundo. Sólo vívelo" -me dijo mi madre en un sueño a pocos meses de su muerte siendo yo aún adolescente. Como un soplo, los años han pasado y aquí me encuentro más próximo a la edad que ella tenía cuando falleció. Creo que tomé su consejo... en parte. He tratado de 'vivir el mundo' y sigo haciéndolo. Pero no renuncié a querer entenderlo - aclaro que trato que el intento no me desvele sino más bien que me entretenga. Qué diría ella si me viera hoy? Cuántas cosas yo le diría?

Y en una auto-mirada retrospectiva, veo un caleidoscopio interesante y descifro los patrones de colores y comprendo mejor al niño y al adolescente. Hoy recuerdo, mientras camino las memorias de mañana. Será que me da cierta sensación de poder el creer que puedo decidir hacer este momento memorable? Aún puedo imprimir una marca en mi vida hoy o sentir la ilusión de hacerlo y así, en otras tantas décadas, habré de reflexionar y confesar si he vivido...

Mi tiempo de recreo se termina. En un rato, estaré en clase comentando The Kite Runner...

La Vie en Rose

Am I goal-oriented? Suddenly I wonder if I really am. I know what I want in life but I don't have it clear whether I am so focused. I get excited about challenges but well...

La Vie en Rose, what a great movie! Based on Edith Piaf's biography, the actress transmits the star's magnetic personality, a woman who suffered the loss of practically everyone she ever loved. Incredibly touching story, painful at times, beautifully narrated and an amazing performance by this woman! Any movie based on Piaf's life that will include her songs is already a pleasure to watch, or listen rather. But here the acting is just superb. I guess I need to find out more about both the movie and the actress. The guy at the video shop told me it won this year's Academy Award for best foreign movie, but my hunch is that the actress must have been nominated for best female performer. If she wasn't, she definitely should have been!

Well, I've just checked out the movie online and YES, Marion Cotillard DID get the Oscar for Best Actress, but the movie did not win as best foreign film :(

I watched the last few scenes over twice. What a great movie...

stray dog

He barks at the biker passing by,
then follows an apprehensive woman
loyalty misunderstood
she rushes away keeping an eye on him
then a mixed breed with some pit bull in him appears
and he scuffles until tail hidden between his hinder legs
he runs away from the mighty neighbor
scampering to the approaching tires of a pick-up truck
off he goes again in concentrated bark
then looks around and scurries to the curb
before the next car he leaves his mark
on the sour orange tree trunk by the bar
tirelessly, overexcited, in heated confusion
a tongue-out attempt to keep up

The man sips the last drop of his cortado
to no effect yet
his eyelids still weigh tons
and the looming headache forestalls
him of recovering the images of the day

Up above the circling buildings
the new moon looks now slightly smaller

I want some more

warm fall afternoon clear and quiet
the senses awakened
cuddling my yearning for more
invited love came and went
so fast yet so intense
little talk before and after
though the tenderness remains,
the touch unrestrained
the language of the skin
in every pore in every scent
it leaves me wanting more
of the gentleness, the caress
what's the point of this exchange
so fast yet so intense
yes, some giving but little left
the thirst allayed
and the warm breeze
through the door finds me still,
relaxed, alone with a light of hope
will there be more?

Cold (?) weather...

The cool breeze sneaks into every room in Tucuman, largely unprepared for cold weather... I walk around wrapped up in my jacket and can't avoid remembering NYC streets in winter, walking to school on Clinton, or back home on Atlantic Av. THAT was COLD, when only my eyes were uncovered, and I could hardly move in my goose-down jacket. Here it's close to pleasurable to walk around and know that the cold temperatures can't and won't get any worse, hardly ever below 7 or 6°C. ... Ufff, I cant connect the sentences, can't keep my eyes open any more...

Lobos, sports, and competition... hmmm

Corruption in our politicians, their feeling that they're beyond social classes, a league of their own not bound by the Law - their omnipotence reflected in their feeling that they can decide to benefit themselves, take advantage of their position to make tons of money and remain unaccountable 'for the sake of democracy' with total disregard for the people that put them where they are. That's what Los Lobos shows - the play with five actors from Tucuman who keep the audience feeling the plot is more current than ever and not necessarily from the 1940s. It was nice to see our local talent put to good use.

This morning through early afternoon, David Nalbandian's epic win in a heart-stopping five setter against Soderling from Sweden placed Argentina in the semis of the Davis Cup. Immediately after that, River Plate won their match against Tigre to keep the top position in our soccer league. All I need now is for Boca Jrs. to lose against the jujeños and I'll have a completely happy Sunday.

Chilly Sunday, sweaters worn for the first time this fall, a good time to be nested warmly, quietly... After Aida is a no go with the Seniors, should I go for Joseph with the Juniors? Can't believe I'm crazy enough to even consider it - but I am!

I've also found out that there will be fierce competition for the Regente position at Instituto Tecnico. At least 10 candidates are expected to sign up. God, I wonder whether I should stay on it... Will it be worth it?

relaxing freewrite

I've presented the technique of freewriting to my juniors and seniors in college. They'd never done it in English before! And some have probably never done in Spanish either! I could sense their attention to my comments and they all filled out about a full page in fifteen minutes. Now, we're doing 'looping' with that, or focused freewriting. Hopefully they'll all come up with a good piece that's worth sharing with classmates and publishing in the class blog. I wonder how successful the approach to writing I'm implementing this year is going to be. I'd love for it to become a breakthrough in their ability to write thoughtful essays, creative and critical pieces. We'll see...

Meanwhile, I've had a chance to breathe in deep and enjoy the cool afternoon air. It smells fresh and clean after last night's heavy storm. In my search for peace everyday, this moment in front of the laptop has become the highest point of the day. The screen becomes a window to explore, to play with words, to feel connected... After I do it, I seem to find my center, sense I strike a balance, even if it's a mirage of solace, the rest of the day feels different, like under some kind of spell... the wonders of giving myself the gift of meditating for a few minutes, of letting my fingers tap dance on the keyboard... My balcony garden is growing and filling the space nicely, lively... The recent showers have given the plants more strength and vigor... which I feel every time I step out and unwind...

After the first week of my (almost!) full load of work

Around 1989 when I was in grad school in New Paltz, Elisa Dávila, the Colombian SUNY professor and my good friend and mentor, told me I should be careful about how I approach my work - I was a strong candidate for a precocious case of burn-out. Almost twenty years have passed since, and for some reason, fortunately, I haven't experienced that dreadful syndrome. However, the way this year has started I'm seriously concerned it may if I don't do something about it. I see the books for each of the subjects I teach, the materials for Aida, the inviting laptop and know that there are so many interesting things to do in each... but, the week begins and I get caught in the eddy of schedules and obligations. As a result, the precious time for planning is never there... Of course, how can I possibly find the time if I have too much to do!?

That's when I feel like quitting. It's even more frustrating when the time and effort do not bring the desired results. I put in an awful lot of my time to work for Aida and now we're not even sure if we'll be able to do it. Apparently I misread the kids' level of commitment. Several of them are, but that is not enough. This has to be a CLASS project. Problems with attendance, two of the main roles rejected by the chosen actors for different reasons... Ah! I'd better not keep going with that, every word I type just increases my frustration. Maybe that and the negative energy I had to face from LM were too much for a beginning of the year.

I need to touch base, quit UNSTA once and for all, and then see if it's really worth going on at Lola Mora -- even when that would mean cutting a third of my income. At some point this past week I got a glimpse of what it would be like to have the evenings for myself -- or rather to do some of the fun stuff I can't get my hands on. And if I plan ahead well enough and get organized, I could even squeeze in some tennis and gym a couple of times a week. Oh god... this WAS likely to happen. My timing is slow in making decisions because I want to take steps that are carefully thought out first. I hope I'm doing it right... I have my first class at UNT this Tuesday, I'm 20% through the material I want to cover. Yes, I want to do too much in just an hour of class, but I know that I have to make that time count... I took JP's advice and did not quit Lola Mora before the first class. The problem is that I've begun and it's hard to pump students up to do work, get them involved and motivated and then tell them I'm leaving. I don't know if that will be the case yet but... it might! Anyway... I just need to get to the point I'm sure that my decision is right, and then move on... Getting past that point will hopefully ease my mind...

The path forks into two roads

The path forks into two roads in the twilight of the day – soon I’ll know which one to take. The journey promises either the joy of discovering new sights, or the warm welcome of familiar grass. Yet, now, in the agony of weighing if one is worth more, I learn the pain that comes from choosing which way I will not go. Now there is the angst of not knowing if, later on, I’ll look back and contentedly smile for the wisdom of the choice, or maybe I’ll wipe away a sad tear for the dusks and dawns I have forgone. Now there is the mourning for the landscapes I won’t see, for the company disappearing in the undergrowth, their warmth remaining among my dearest memories.

.

The two roads go deep into the woods ahead. The spring has filled them both with tender bushes and light green leaves. I can only be grateful for the chance to choose. Like Bob’s old friend, I stand before the two roads, and try hard to look down as far as I can. But there is just so much I see. My friends wish for me the nicer, more secure path, where I can discover new landscapes as I go; the safer way to grant me exotic food, ipods, and satellite TV. But the other leads to green pastures that do not offer more than their raw beauty and an invitation or a warning to build myself a hut to find shelter from the rain. And I’ll be able to decorate it with souvenirs from distant lands. And they will remain there and only change their color as they age. There is an awful lot of work that needs to be done there. At the end of the day, I wonder if I’ll feel satisfied, comforted, or recognized. Yet, just doing my work, I’ll have fulfilled my mission; my talents, intact or multiplied, will have found good use in my home town. The path forks into two roads… I can’t wait to see the day…

Written in New York, April-May 2005 when I had to decide whether to stay in the US or come back home to Tucuman

Elaborate life

so easily the watch hands dictate direction
a shiny shackle round my wrist determines
when to run, where to row, how to rush into sleep and fall
I try the yoga tip in the car, a wild attempt to extend the traffic light
the metallic AC fresh air in my mouth, a raindrop in a dune
I wake up from the pc screen when my dog's paws on my lap tell me it's dinner time
I just look in front, where to place my next footstep
no time to look elsewhere and discover the new star light in the dark,
the different shade of silver around the waning crescent sliver of the moon

so much moving forward in the universe
how can I escape the inertia
drink easily from the fountain of the senses
forget the merciless hands,
find the tic can be so far away from the tac
insignificant my little struggles, travails and satisfactions
if I can't see I am connected, free to determine purpose
make sense of cause and consequence
come to terms with the here and now
gulp and lushly give warmth
and rebel successfully
indifferent to the ruthless metallic dictator

Drizzle, tennis, warmth and new beginnings...

I got a few minutes to sit down and watch a tennis game on tv. Cañas is not doing so well against Andreev - just lost the first set. I decided to leave them in the background and hit the keys for a while. Warmth and friendship may be just a phone call away. Or perhaps a few minutes that we take to stop and chat with a colleague or anyone else around can make us feel better. I had a rough weekend and yet I've absorbed so much positive energy in the last two days that I feel nicely replenished. Outside the drizzle has not stopped for three days now; indoors everywhere the pace has become frantic at times; and inside I've rebuilt my reservoir of good vibes. I'm ready and willing to face the coming challenges. If it becomes overburdening I'll just ease the load. It's alright, it's ok... just breathe in, relax, enjoy the ride... And if possible take a short nap in the middle of at least one week day! Wouldn't that be nice? I appreciate counting on friends I can go to when I'm down. Thanks to them, I'm up again... I wish Cañas could use their energy to get back in the match.

We're on...

This will be one of the first of probably several entries related to different aspects of our play. The intensity of the music and the heightened pathos of its tragedy make the story of Aida so memorable... I didn't have to go to school today but still did so, just to let the kids know that tomorrow the girls will be working with Jenny on choreography, and the dozen actors preselected at the auditions will be meeting with me. The energy pounds against my chest from within... Free-flowing feelings and love transcending death and the physical limitations of our little human life, time and place displaced, overcome - what else could a musical propose?

Young energy!

Little by little I start to complete my regular teaching load. And I also started the musical 'The Legend of Aida' with my HS seniors yesterday. The whole day fifty six seventeen-year-old boys and girls did their very best dancing, acting and singing. Their energy is inexhaustible. From 8:30am to 5pm was a rather long tiring day but definitely worth it and promising. I love to see them working hard to do something they've probably never done before. It's a huge project that has to be done completely by May 28 and 29, the dates for our four performances. The adrenaline rush will last two full months!

De nubes y nubarrones

Hoy he transitado por mi camino premarcado. La rutina guió mis pasos para llegar al final de la jornada. He enfrentado las obligaciones buenamente... Encontré la sonrisa de la gente y la buena energía de otras, sin embargo... después del contacto por dentro seguí sintiendo ese malestar, esa desazón... la certeza de nuestra capacidad para herir, de la capacidad dual del ser humano de no saber hasta dónde llegar con sus palabras y creer que construye a cada paso... No siempre es así. Como seres humanos somos tan destructivos como porosos al candor del prójimo, tan nocivos en la dialéctica como tiernos con un bebé. Hoy completé mi día habiendo cumplido... También interactué, y traté de ver a la gente a mi alrededor y fijarme si siento dónde está parado cada uno. Tuve éxito sólo en algunos casos... Y por dentro, siento dudas y desilusión... del discurso amigable con agenda subconsciente de aislacionismo... Quizás esté pifiado y sólo sea un mero presentimiento, pero este sentimiento que atraviesa no mi corazón sino mis entrañas no me ha dejado tranquilo en todo el día... En cada hora casi la conversación de anoche me siguió dando vueltas en la cabeza y fue inevitable la recomposición de lugares y la consecuente comprensión de actitudes de otros... Una conciencia que lastima y a la cual se me mantuvo alejado a través de orejeras de palabras amables y evasivas... Esto es bastante oscuro porque a propósito no quiero ser concreto con el origen de mi sentimiento... No importa en realidad... Lo triste es ver más clara -o más enmarañada- la naturaleza humana y verme enlodazado en su podredumbre... Hoy necesito un descanso y un buen relax... Mañana será un día distinto, afortunadamente...

On broken bridges

Funny when people you've once acquainted or befriended with do not seem to care anymore. Or maybe they feel pretty much the same way I do? And one can't seem to take the right step to bridge the gap... It is not that easy and probably those people do mean something if it's difficult to approach and restart some form of communication with them. Also, I wonder about those that have the capacity to 'kill' others by simply erasing them from their lives. Is it really like that? It looks like it is... Then one is left with the desire to pursue their friendship but of course our life is complicated enough as it is and soon the energy is just not there to try as hard as to get a chance of rekindling the flames. Too bad... in a few days I'll be in the position of facing one or two of those people. I'll soon find out how much energy can be invested by either one of us...

Verde que te quiero verde

Different shades and texture of green leaves in my balcony... This morning a new type of croto joined the community of life that mediate between the outside world and my nest... Only a few minutes after I'd found a good place in it for the croto, a sudden summer shower sprinkled them all. As the bushes and limbs swayed at the rhythm of a fresh breeze of renewal, I join their celebration and feel infused with their energy ...

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Both pics of my balcony garden taken today!! :)

Plastic Surgery for Ophelia Kirwan

http://www.clarin.com/diario/2008/03/21/sociedad/s-03015.htm

Ophelia Kirwan is only two years old and her dad, a plastic surgeon in the UK, will operate her so that her Down syndrome features are not so apparent. As the case became news around the world, the debate is now heated and not likely to subside any time soon. Is her parents' decision right?

It is true that without or with less traits of this syndrome she is likely to have an easier life. People will not single her out just by her looks, which means she will have a chance of leading a more 'normal' life. Her cognitive capacity will still be the same, and if she is lucky to grow up in a supportive environment her integration with the rest of her peers throughout school and later on in the workforce will be facilitated. However, I wonder whether this surgery to change her face is more of a palliative to Ophelia's future suffering or to her parents'. Or to ours.

Whenever we are victims of any kind of discrimination, we may be affected physically or emotionally, but many times discriminatory attitudes of others may go unnoticed to us. Either aware or not, we can overcome discrimination by finding strength in our own beliefs with the support of those who love us, who will nurture our self-esteem. How much is this operation likely to make Ophelia more resilient and prepared for our predatory society?

How much is the fact that she will look like anyone else supposed to assuage Ophelia's own anguish? Or is her operation more likely to dissipate everybody else's anxiety when they have to deal with someone different? Will her 'normal' features dispel people's discomfort around her? Will her parents feel better in the company of the 'after' rather than the 'before' version of their daughter?

In her innocence, Ophelia does not understand, and who knows if she ever will, that she was born in a sick society that finds a better solution in changing her outer looks so that she can be more acceptable to all of us. It hurts to think that in fact she will suffer less, that as civilized people we have not come to terms with others' differences and that we need to 'normalize' the different so that they may fit the pattern, the norm, the format. It's scary to think what we would choose if someone's skin color or sexual orientation could be changed with a simple operation.

Old friends of old times

After a few years I faced the task of contacting a former friend, someone who was one of my best lifelong friends and the only one in that category of uniqueness that I lost contact with. Even though it was mostly her decision to shy away form our friendship, I find it hard to exchange the first couple of words and I can't fathom what her reaction will be like. Soon I'll find out. Life in Tucuman has that kind of charm, anything and anyone you come across once, at some point sooner or later appears again on your way. What goes around, comes around. Time heals emotional wounds but for some they seem to stay open forever. Fortunately, I'm not in the latter group, but find it painful when someone you love does. Oh well...

Rushing but looking

In a time of anxious decision making and planning a change of direction, it's good to keep your cool and make a point of being extra patient, and remember that people (and objects!) around do not confabulate to make my life more difficult, but instead be aware that everyone does their best to keep going ahead with their own life and strive as much and as hard as I do. And if one can lend a hand in anyone's day, we'll feel better about ourselves. Why this cheap and cheesy comment? Because I do tend to forget it, and it helps me to keep this in mind. For the most part, people mean no harm, and in our rush like too many animals caged in our small world we may easily start bickering and become aggressive with each other.
Thank you for this day, this energy, this weather and the possibility to plan and make decisions... Having choices is a privilege, and I truly appreciate it...

Is love knocking on our door?

Should we go find love or does love come to us? Or does it just happen? Who knows... We all need it and sorely miss it when we don't have it. Yet it seems elusive at times and not a gentle caller...
You think you're doing the right thing by going out on different dates and then realize it all revolves around the mere search for individual physical gratification. In our community, it seems that whatever may happen in a substantial relationship must first pass the physical test. Is it possible to try a different approach? I don't have any answer but a whole bunch of questions... Meanwhile, the dating game demands so much energy, and yet we easily become entertained and absorbed in its animal and ephemeral sensations. At that point, we don't even remember the original purpose. We may fail to see 'the one' pass by if the rendezvous is just another touch-and-go. I guess the chance of finding my other half may be blowing in the wind... Will I ever breathe it in?
I should stay positive though, envision the type of partner I want, and keep going... finding all of the pleasures and brief moments of happiness in my several other endeavors. I hope I can do that and thus avoid growing desperate or overanxious! If I didn't have a profession that so nobly feeds me with good energy, I'd be a total wreck.

My objectives for this year

I'd like to grow professionally and move into the area of educational leadership and administration. My concrete goal is to prepare for the competitive race to get the position of Regente at IT. This would be quite a challenge in a prestigious institution in Tucuman, sort of like a Dean of Students position. I feel ready to face new duties and prove to myself I can be as effective as a school administrator as I've been as a program coordinator at Saint Patrick's for eleven years now!

This year I'll be teaching the UNT Didactics course as a teacher trainer. This is something for which I've been preparing myself for the last few years, so the time has finally come to put that preparation to practical use.

I'll continue at Saint Patrick's as coordinator and teacher. As the IB English A2 teacher for seniors, I hope I can systematize the curriculum and focus on increasing the amount of reading and step-by-step development of their writing skills. As a coordinator, I hope I can keep the quality level achieved last year. Even if it doesn't become as productive a year, I would like to keep doing what worked so well then, i.e. promote teachers' professional development and my own through presentation of our work at professional meetings (conferences, congresses, etc.). I would like to keep a collegial atmosphere of constant improvement within the department, to promote teachers' autonomy and decision making about their own development. Also, I would like to see Aida become a memorable experience for everyone and a blockbuster success (!) with the senior class shining on stage while bringing the story to life.

At Lola Mora, I would like to keep the level of production reached last year in my Language III and Language IV classes. I hope I can improve the aspects of the syllabus that need revising, such as the cost of producing their portfolio and keeping a reading log.

My last objective is more of a wish. I'd like to enjoy the ride and feel that I'm in control of my duties because I'm responding efficiently to all of them. They ARE many; therefore, if I can finish the year mentally stable, and satisfied, I'll be a happy individual... My expectation is that this year is likely to become a turning point in my profession. I look forward to treading on the path I've set for myself and to seeing myself through successfully by December 2008.

Why not adopt rather than resent technology?

In today's Nueva magazine of La Gaceta, there is an essay reflecting on the success of isolation and failure to truly communicate by means of new tech gadgets such as mp3s, ipods, laptops, etc. The comment was triggered by the death of a teenager who was run over by a car because he could not hear the car coming while crossing the street in his own mp3 bubble. It sounds terrible and one tends to blame the new technology for this kid's tragedy, but I'm not sure that we see the whole picture when assessing the impact of technology on our lives. Rather than reject and resist it, we should adopt it and learn how to use it wisely.
On that same newspaper, in the Showbiz section there is a page long article on the immense range of possibilities that new tech gives musicians at the moment of creating music. There are also ads in which the requirements include a long list of software the successful candidate should handle. My feeling is that technology is part of our reality and instead of demonizing it, we should figure out how to optimize its use in the different areas of our life.
With every new advancement or invention, people have been reluctant to accept it. The appearance of the radio made skeptics believe that real person to person conversation would never be the same. A similar reaction was triggered by the television and other new gadgets. Now the internet and the videogames are to blame for all our teenagers' and children's evils. And we are rather slow to incorporate these tools as part of our repertoire to help them learn more and better. By complaining about it, we won't make it disappear or solve any of the bad consequences of its wrong use.

Time change

http://imgs13.stockmediaserver.com/th170/Corbis/CB027165.jpg

I've just made a new friend, Hector. It was a very brief conversation but we found we had quite a bit in common. We agreed we'd see each other soon and we both went on with our own commitments. After that, I changed the time of my watch. Tonight I'll be able to sleep an extra hour, and for a few weeks I'll be getting up when the sun is up already. I love that! Tonight I can breathe in and out and relax. So nice... to enjoy the moment: the fresh breeze that comes in through the balcony door of my 5th floor apartment, the background soft sound of the news channel, the occasional lost bat enjoying its flight of dark freedom and singing to it, lively conversation of happy teenagers who take the time change as an extra hour to party -not to sleep like me!-, the leisurely purring of car engines that come and go according to the traffic light at the corner. This quiet end of summer in Tucuman gives us a break, a respite of cool air in sixty extra minutes that today make all the difference...

Welcome to my sancto sanctorum...

So here I am... After a couple dozen blogs, I finally decided to open my personal one. I really explored many ways of how to use it with my students as a teaching/learning tool, and now I finally go for my own place, my little niche, in this cul du monde. I don't know if this will be all in English or if I'll end up writing everything in Spanish... I guess it'll just depend on the day, and the mood, and the need... For now, I thought of reaching the world, the virtual universe, reaching, who knows, some or one or none.

How much will I be able to allow myself to enjoy the solace of hitting keys and just relax? That's soon to be seen...
Quite a weird beginning of the academic year this has been... With interesting plans, yet finding it hard to get myself pumped up. Is it some other need still unfulfilled? Maybe... At least, this Saturday afternoon I could take my time and not rush and it felt so good. The air felt more refreshing, calm, the nap couch like a cloud, and getting online like a stroll around 9 de Julio park...

http://www.franciahotel.com/esp/imagenes_files/estatua.jpg

That's how I sauntered into the creation of this blog...